The detection of ripples in the fabric of spacetime just won the Nobel Prize
Wisdom dissolves confusion in the realization of appearance’s intrinsic emptiness. Love dissolves despair in the luminescing of expanse. Wisdom knows I am nothing. Love knows I am everything. Life is lived on the love swing tied between these two ropes.
Wisdom and love give birth to compassion and in the words of that lover of wisdom Maurice Merleau-Ponty, “My body is wherever there is something to be done.”
This appearaning realm, a post apophatic canticle whose cataphatic theology unlimits the limitation of unlimitedness.
My mind unravels across, and of, always present but never quite as. In love, everything known is forgotten without need of an 'other.' No longer any need for the good behavior of the Parental Deity, embrace –withdrawal, the dogma of childish photons.
This expanse, peopled as it is, by configurations of brightness. (For instance:
three, count them, three British ladies in sensible shoes.
the emperor Yang Ti of China builds the Grand Canal
upworthy posts six more tepidly inspiring videos.
the sarmoung monastery produces one singular Gurdjieff)
Appears a general mélange of Panama hats, a mêlée of memory haunted streets, a tête-à-tête of poignant hopes carefully stacked in some back room of Chinatown waiting their chance for a moment on the show room floor.
Emptiness produces a circular, a letter or advertisement that is distributed to a large number of people, announcing the possibility of actions here-to-fore unimaginable. Appearance says “Oh Boy!” Crowds head down to the showroom floor. “Sofas Half Off!!! This Epoch Only.”
Sultan Mehmed II, ruler of the Ottoman Turks, led the assault. 1st of May, 1453. All sales must be rung up at the front register. The Bashi-bazouks rush the aisle but are blocked by The Bulgarian Martyresses of April, 1877. Who remembers who got the table lamp in the end? And, as for the Ottoman empire, all that is left is an overstock sale on One Kings Lane.
Brightness returns to expanse, the journey short – having never left. The rippling of time and history … Schrödinger's cat …. nothing more than the amusement of deep implications. Sometimes mind just hums the tune to Stop Making Sense again and again. - t.k.